


Morning Blues

by odoridango



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Melancholy, snuggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-18 18:04:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3578823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/odoridango/pseuds/odoridango
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One AM in the morning. That's nothing new. Sometimes, Annie just needs a little bit of a nudge, a little bit of a boost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning Blues

One AM in the morning. Not really a big deal, since sometimes they stay up until four. But that’s usually for things like movie marathons and not so gentle sniping over how intelligent the plot may or may not be, but Mikasa has a soft spot for family films about growing up and romantic featureless, and Annie likes movies about journies and traveling, and the critical documentaries that get them debating late into the night.

One-oh-five AM. Not really a big deal, they’ve been here before. When Annie’s father died, when Mikasa’s father returned after what he did to her brother, during finals at university and tired, quiet days after work. Rent increased again; they might have to find a new place soon. The couch remembers the contours of their bodies, and Annie tucks her face into Mikasa’s stomach. Neither of them wear perfume, but Armin left them a cypress diffuser the last time he was here, and the smell of forest wafts through the room unevenly. It always smells strongest near the kitchen, so cooking has been strange, with cypress thick and heavy on the air, mixing with the tastes of beef stew or nikujaga on their tongues.

One-oh-eight AM. Not really a big deal. They’ve done this before.

"Get up," Mikasa says, runs a gentle hand through Annie’s hair. It’s thin, smooth and wispy, clings to her fingers with the delicacy of spiderweb.

Annie ignores her, curls closer and tightens the loose arm thrown around Mikasa’s waist. She had three classes today, was curled up on the couch when Mikasa came back from field hockey.

"I’m tired," Annie says, simple, emotionless.

Mikasa’s hand traces the same path into Annie’s hair over and over, the rhythm lulling her into an odd sort of melancholy. Annie has beautiful hair.

"Did you eat?" Mikasa asks.

"No."

Annie breathes deep. Mikasa hasn’t had a shower yet, and still stinks of sweat and grass, the dried mud smeared up the side of her left leg.

"Get up," Mikasa says, nudges Annie’s cheek with a finger. "Come on."

Annie breathes, once, twice. One-twelve AM, not really a big deal.

"We’ve got leftovers," Mikasa says, and the kitchen smells like forests, deep and dark, protective.

Not really a big deal. Seconds pass.

Annie rolls off the couch, motions sleek and powerful. She’s spooning out the food to go in the microwave when Mikasa catches up to her, and squeezes her hand.

"Let’s eat together," she says.

"Okay," Annie says. Open microwave. Put in the food. Program microwave, one, two minutes. Close microwave.

She steps back and watches the countdown.


End file.
